


Wrath of the Elves

by PlagueClover



Category: Original Work
Genre: Antlers, Christmas, Frottage, Gay Sex, Gift Fic, I'm Sorry, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Pagan Gods, Santa Claus - Freeform, This Is STUPID, Winter Solstice, unedited weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlagueClover/pseuds/PlagueClover
Summary: Santa's lonely. Ever since Mrs Claus ran away with the 'mailman', Christmas just hasn't held the same magic sparkle as it once did. The happy little Christmas elves have a surprise for Santa that they're pretty sure will solve all their problems.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Wrath of the Elves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CircleUp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleUp/gifts).



> This is a gift fic. Because Circle has been so goddamn awesome about running a secret santa event for our discord server, and he wrote so much! Man... He deserves a gift fic too. Like a proper one. But I don't feel like editing this piece of shit so he gets this shitty one instead. <3 enjoy!

Wrath of the Elves

Kris Kringle was tired. He shook the snow off his boots as he stomped his way into the warm little hut. A fire was already ablaze in the fireplace. Could smell the warmth of a roast in the oven and everything was softly lit by the flickering glow.

Once upon a time, that blaze reflected in his eyes and his bursting heart. The year he started. It wasn’t even that long ago that he was overflowing with hope and love, that he felt completely fulfilled by the magic of Christmas. But then it happened. Mrs. Claus left him. 

He still didn’t understand what happened. She’d said she’d fallen in love with the mailman, and for ages he wondered where she found a mailman in the north pole, but then came the day she ran. He woke up that morning with not just his wife’s side of the bed cold and empty, but also one stall in the stables... Rudolf. 

And it all started to make sense. That red nose... How obsessed she was about getting that freak into the reindeer’s inner circle, and Kris had ate it all up, didn’t he? The fog that fateful night hadn’t helped. And though he always found her obsession with that red nose odd, he never imagined they were having an affair. In retrospect she did always smell a little like wet dog. 

Kris paused by the table. He sent a suspicious look at the Siberian Husky happily gnawing on a bone by the fire. It was hard not to think about it. What other animals had Mrs. Claus attended to a little too attentively? 

“Santa,” came a tiny voice. 

Kris sighed. He was starting to hate that name too. He missed the days when Christmas was a time of pure, unconditional generosity. Not anymore. Now he felt numb and he wanted a drink. 

He glanced at himself in the mirror by the door. His red blotchy face, burned by the wind. His long, thick black hair was starting to grey a little. He wasn’t even middle-aged yet, the first few white strands popped up the day that bitch left. He patted his gut. A year ago it was a rippled six pack, and now his muscles were well hidden beneath a slowly growing belt of meat. 

“Fucking Rudolf,” he whispered to his reflection. Then he ripped the hat off, frowned at his growing stubble. There were way too many white hairs streaking the beginnings of his beard too. 

The little voice shouted, “Santa!” 

Kris’ lip curled into a sneer. He looked over to the counter where a dozen elves, barely pushing five inches tall, were gathered around a tiny wrapped box. 

“What?” He grunted. “If you tell me I forgot that shit, I swear to God I will feed you to-”

“It’s for you!” One of them sang. 

God, they were so happy. It grated on his nerves. Their bright eyes gazed up at him in perpetual awe. Their stupid hats stuck upon their tiny heads like stupid paper cones of various bright colours. Not even Christmas colours. Most of them were just terrible, tacky colour combinations that made Kris lowkey suspect they were smoking something in that tiny workshop behind the sink.

Maybe there was something in those magic Christmas cookies they loved so much.

“That’s,” Kris cleared his throat. They really were hard workers, he tried to remind himself, and it wasn’t exactly like he was paying them. So he offered them a strained smile and tried again. “That’s very considerate of you, thank you Spritz.” 

The elf blinked. The smile didn’t falter from its face for a second. “Spritz is dead. I’m Sprinkle.”

“Right.”

“Rudolf killed him when he eloped with the missus.”

Kris cringed. “I remember.”

“It was horrible,” Sprinkle gleefully added. “Just a smear of elf for ten whole inches! Like a big popped mosquito!”

“Enough,” Kris snapped. The elves fell quiet. His fingers curled into fists. He took a deep breath to calm himself and motioned to Sprinkle. “Sorry. Okay, let me see the gift.”

Sprinkle tossed a tiny handful of tiny glitter into the air over the gift, and a moment later, it was rising into the air. It floated on across the gap, slowly growing along the way, to land gently on the table in front of Kris. It was about the size of a book now. 

He flashed a long-suffering glance over at the elves, then he haphazardly ripped their colourful wrapping off, and opened the little black nondescript box.

Out slid a thin, blue disk. 

It was just a circle. It was hard, though he wasn’t entirely sure what it was made out of. Not glass. Not ceramic. Not any sort of plastic he had seen before. 

“You’ve been so lonely,” Sprinkle said. “Ever since the missus left you for a reindeer. But you deserve to be happy too, and tat is why we got you a friend!”

“Great.” Kris lifted the disk with a nod of strained gratitude. “Thank you, guys. I love it. I’ll name it Peter.”

Sprinkle’s tiny brows furrowed. The smile vanished to a frown of pure indignation. “He already has a name.”

Really? That was what wiped that stupid smile off their face? “Okay, what’s his name?”

“Wrath.”

Kris blinked. “Wrath?”

Sprinkle smiled again. “Yup!” 

“As in anger?”

“That’s the one!” 

Sprinkle and the rest of the elves turned around and marched along the edge of the sink, back through the door of their workshop. Which was really just a water damaged crate embedded in the wall. He didn’t get paid for this shit. He didn’t have the money to give them something safer, but... They were magic. Why the fuck they didn’t just make it better with that glitter of theirs was beyond him. 

Finally. Some alone time. 

Kris scowled at the dog. It was still ignoring him. Man’s best friend his ass, that bitch always did like Mrs. Claus better. Even a year later, that dog was still holding that torch. As he glared at it, It got up with the bone in its mouth, turned around, and laid back down with its back to him. 

Kris snorted wryly to himself. He settled his gaze back on the blue circle and muttered, “I guess it’s just you and me, ‘Wrath’.”

The circle didn’t answer.

Kris tapped on it. What was it even supposed to be? A frisbee? A plate? It had no weight to it, he wasn’t sure it would go very far, and there was no rim at all to hold food in. It was just a circle. 

He picked it up and with a lazy frown, he whacked it against the table. 

Half expected it to shatter, but it didn’t. He whacked it again. Nothing. He held it up to the firelight. Could vaguely see the glow through the mostly opaque surface. No shadows inside, though. Did they just mold some strong clay into a circle and name it fucking ‘Wrath’? 

Wait. Maybe it was a cookie. The texture of it vaguely resembled hardened royal icing. Maybe this was the secret to their sociopathic-level happiness. Maybe if he ate it, he’d be prancing around in terrible conditions with that loopy smile on his face and a paper cone on his head. 

Sounded a helluva lot better than his life now. 

So he stuck it in his mouth and bit down. 

A yelp pierced the air. Kris dropped the circle. It clattered to the table. The blue clouded with black and then it spread outward, across the table, a creeping, impenetrable shadow. Kris sprang up from his seat. His chair toppled backwards noisily on the wood floor as his back hit the wall. The darkness spread upwards, blocking out the light from the fireplace and taking shape. 

The shape of a man. 

A young man with pale, porcelain skin. It literally looked like porcelain. A long, lean body draped in skintight red and white leather. Straps were everywhere, and yet somehow he managed to show off a whole lot of skin. His flowing blond locks blended nicely with his pale flesh and a pair of towering, fuzzy white antlers atop his head. But he wasn’t all white. Dark green intricate designs decorated his flesh from his temples, all the way down his neck and arms, and his eyes offered an eye-catching pop of garnet red. 

The darkness swirled around the lean figure with lashing, smoky tendrils. They almost looked like tentacles, but they couldn’t be. That would be weird. 

“You,” came a smooth, satiny voice, “bit me.” 

God. The sound of it alone made his knees week. It was somehow icy and warm all at once. Breathy and clear as the cool winter night sky. 

“I’m sorry,” Kris gasped out. “Are you... Are you ‘Wrath’?”

The young man took a step. His footstep sounded like a hoof, light and hard, but when Kris looked down, all he saw was a bright red boot. “I don’t know why they call me that.”

Kris swallowed awkwardly. He tried to keep his eyes on that strange face, but they kept veering up to the antlers and down to the leather. “They’re like that. I swear to god, they name the cockroaches that try to eat them. Do you... um, have a name? Where did you come from?”

The head tilted. Those antlers didn’t even falter the slightest bit, like they were on there super securely. “I am the spirit of the winter solstice.”

“That’s not a name.”

“Yes it is.”

As the young man moved closer, Kris inched further away down the counter. “So, um... How about that weather out there, huh?” 

“I haven’t seen the ‘weather out there’ in two hundred years.”

“Jesus,” Kris grumbled. “You got quite the sunny disposition, don’t you?”

“You have usurped my throne,” that sexy, icy voice purred as the young man closed the distance. Long fingers ran up Kris’ belly, over his chest, slow and sensual and made his breath come heavy and uncertain. “You appropriated my culture, and wrapped a pretty bow on it. Then you enslaved the fey people who serve me and put them in stupid hats. Considering your crimes, I think I am being quite,” he paused and stressed the word, “sunny.”

Kris’s body was already burning. He wasn’t even really into guys, but fuck... That man was prettier than any woman he’d ever bedded. And everywhere that hand travelled, from his chest, beneath his fur-trimmed coat, to dance across his sensitive ribs, his flesh burned with need. 

He reached the end of the counter. Nowhere to go but a wall. His breath trembled and he whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Extending an olive branch,” the young man murmured as that lithe body pressed to Kris’s. It was warm and cool at the same time. The breath that washed over Kris’ cheek smelled of melted snow and camp fires. He spoke quiet, enunciating every word with purpose. “It would benefit me greatly if you and I resolved our differences.”

Kris’ black brows furrowed deeply. “What differences?” 

“The usurping thing.” 

“Are you serious? Have you looked around? Does any part of this place look like a throne?” Kris grunted and pushed past the guy. “All I do all day is tend the fucking reindeer, knowing full well those fuckers are just furry, antlered homewreckers, and then I spend my whole Christmas flying around the fucking world. Not with my family, no. Not with my loved ones, no. Not spending the money no one ever pays me, no. Freezing my ass off with a bunch of reindeer dicks!”

The young man pushed his shoulders, and Kris dropped willingly into a chair. He grunted as the coat was slipped off his arms and those long, pale fingers ran over his shoulders. God, still they burned everything they touched in with such an icy sweetness... It was hard to cling to his rage. 

They began to knead deep into his muscles. He felt the icy breath in his hair as the young man purred, “You feel unappreciated.”

Kris let out a low sigh as he felt his tension begin to slip away. “Yes.”

“You feel overworked.” The hands slipped from his shoulders, massaging over his sweated in long, deep strokes. Then beneath the knit collar to knead into his chest as he felt that long body press against his back. “And so, so alone.”

“God, yes,” Kris muttered. 

Lips brushed the lobe of his ear. The smell of him seemed to get thicker and hotter, like glowing embers flaring to life in the winter breeze. Kris ran his hand up that long, pale arm as those roaming, massaging hands pulled the sweater slowly up, exposing his belly to the warm air. 

The young man’s lips parted. His tongue delved into Kris’s ear, sending a burst of chills racing down his spine. Then those fingers slipped beneath his belted pants to stoke his waking lust, and those chills raced right back up again. 

“Wait,” Kris gripped the young man’s wrist. He glanced up into those red eyes and mumbled, “I’ve never been with a man before.”

“Don’t worry,” the man whispered as he moved around the chair and slipped into Kris’s lap. “I’ll be gentle.” 

Then he rocked his hips deep against Kris’s. Heat exploded through him. Kris let out a gasp. His body swelled with approval, trapped between his belly and his belt. He fumbled with the buckle. Somehow managed to free himself as that leather-bound body grinded against him. 

“Oh god,” Kris growled. He gripped those rolling hips with one hand. Felt the icy, shallow breath panting into his hair as those long arms snaked around his shoulders. The shadows still swirled, getting more manic and lashing at the air around them, but he didn’t care that it was creepy as fuck. Somehow those things just made it feel more wrong. More deliciously sinful. 

He went for those red leather pants. Looked like they were fastened with ties, but the young man slapped his hand away and hissed, “they stay on.”

“That,” Kris protested with a distracted frown, “isn’t how this kinda thing works, though?”

“No?” The young man’s arm wrapped around Kris’s head. His fingers slipped into the thick, black hair. Those icy lips brushed his as that smooth voice murmured, “Do you bid me to stop?”

Another roll of the hips. The feel of that leather grinding into his swollen shaft made Kris shake. “No, God. Please keep doing that.” 

A slow smirk spread across that pale face. The red eyes seemed to get darker. To get deeper as he grinding up harder and harder. Their breath came so forced, so shallow and in sync, Kris could taste every icy exhale as if it were his own. He wrapped his arms around that waist. he pulled it tighter against him. His mouth gaped open as moans and grunts spilled out. 

Then those lips closed over his. A sharp tongue darted into his mouth. His whole body jerked tight and his fingers dug into the flesh of the young man’s sides. Kris let out a ferocious cry into that icy, smoky mouth as he erupted all over his own belly, all over that leather. He shook wildly, gripping that body tighter and tighter. 

“You don’t need to ever feel unappreciated again,” the icy voice breathed the words against his lips. “This could be your life. This bliss. This serenity that washes over you as your muscles slacken. Would you like that, Santa of the Claus?”

Kris rode through the lingering convulsions. “Yes...!”

“No more kids. No more burnt cookies and lukewarm milk,” those long fingers stroked his sweat-dampened hair. “All you have to do is promise this burden to me.”

“You can have it,” Kris promised. He ran his hands indulgently up that lean body. 

And then it was gone. 

He blinked. Everything was gone. He was there, in a long, round room. Like a flat circle. Beneath his feet, he saw the grains of his wood table and around him, the room stretched out for miles. Felt like he was at the top of a mountain. The floor looked so far away, the chairs were huge, and there stood the giant, slender figure wrapped in red leather. Large red eyes peered down into the circle room. 

Kris gaped. He didn’t understand. His lingering lust was quick to sober to baffled panic as he tossed a look around. There was nothing in there but him and the chair. What was happening? How the fuck did this happen?

“You are not the only neglected one, my poor, unfortunate Santa of the Claus,” that icy voice wove in and out of the room, like it couldn’t quite penetrate the circle’s walls, but it sure as hell could bend them. “The trees, the fey, the children,” his lips twisted into a sinister grin, “you’ve lost your love for them, and they have suffered for it.” 

The young man plucked the hat from the floor where Kris had abandoned it. He stuck it on his head, between his antlers, and slowly, a snowy white beard began to creep down his chin. 

"Ho," he purred as he strode across the room to where the happy little elves were dancing their way out of their workshop, "ho, ho."   
  



End file.
